Yeah I guess this is destiel or something
by Capcomgal
Summary: Woah some stuff is actually starting to happen it's not that exciting and there still isn't much Destiel but you should totally read it because anything can happen amirite!
1. Chapter 1

Time. If there's one thing humans obsess over, it's time. They spend time, waste it, watch it, send it flying, and, God forbid, kill it. And when it's gone, they lament it. It takes their youth, their loved ones, their lives, and yet they clasp it to their bosom as they would no other murderer. Humans don't seem to understand. Their calendars section it into manageable pieces, sequestering their lives into separate, brief periods of miserably stressed existence. They build clocks for no other reason than to watch them shave seconds from their lives, forcing them to conform to 'days' and 'nights' and miss those times when their paradise is visible to them.  
Of course, to them those stars in the sky are not great and glorious beacons leading them to their paradise. How could they be? They were merely...now, what was the generally accepted theory? Ah, yes; nothing more than gases burning millions of miles from their homes. Obviously such things have to be sorted. Labelled. Groups, species, liquids, gases, animal, vegetable, mineral. Nothing did, could, exist outside these parameters, these boundaries humans had so clearly defined to fit their notions of reality, to make it easier for them to understand, sectioning it into manageable pieces. At least, that's what they told themselves, in their careful avoidance of the truth.  
Ahh, denial. That most human of traits, dare I say it, of faults. Their insistence that things are ordered this way because there is no other way, never thinking for a second that they just cannot comprehend the truth. Never seeing their limitations.  
iBut I digress.../i  
It took Castiel a moment to marshal his train of thought, having had it take so marvellous a detour. He closed his eyes briefly, capturing and settling the entire universe that was forced inside his vessel's brain. He could still feel Jimmy, even now, he could feel him slumbering. Sometimes he woke. Sometimes he pleaded to see his family again. Mostly he stared at this impossibility within his own head and turned away before it blinded him. Humans...  
"Cas? You okay?" Castiel did not have to open his eyes to know that Sam was staring at him with concern from over his laptop. He took another moment before finally deigning to fix the younger Winchester brother with his azure eyes.  
"The apocalypse is upon us. I am...human," he sighed, breathing the word, weighing it down with utter hopelessness, "and we have no way of stopping Lucifer. I do not know what your definition of 'okay' is, but I imagine I do not fit its criteria."  
"You could've just said no," mumbled Sam, returning to his research. Or rather what he maintained was research; Castiel knew for a fact that he had spent the last half-hour staring blankly at the screen, with no idea of what he could possibly do to make the world right.  
The former angel rubbed his eyes tiredly. Tiredness...that was a new one. If there was one thing Castiel could never understand, it was why his Father had made humans so fragile. So susceptible to the whims of their world, to the ravages of their brief lives...Castiel checked himself before his thoughts drifted too far again. Now was not the time for this reflection. Although, he couldn't help but wonder when was the time? He'd never considered these things before. Maybe it was something you didn't think about if you weren't part of it.  
"God, I'd hate to see inside of your head, I bet it's so damn pretentious." Cas started at Dean's familiar growl and swung around. The elder Winchester brother was stood at his side, watching his expression with an air of amusement.  
"What do you mean?" enquired Castiel, his brows furrowing in confusion. Dean gave a rusty chuckle that diffused the tension in the room and sent tiny electric waves burrowing under the angel's skin.  
"Haven't you ever seen your face when you're thinking? I don't know what's dancing through that nerdy little head of yours, but you look like you're about to burst into tears or flip over a table or something." A year ago, Cas would have missed the subtle note of affection that coloured Dean's voice, and even now he didn't know what it meant. It made him happy, though, briefly. The now familiar stirrings of a Dean-induced smile tickled at his lips, but it was hidden behind an impenetrable mask of indifference.  
"I'm simply...musing."  
"Like getting blood from a stone, talkin' to you," muttered Dean, rolling his eyes. He crossed the room, peeling off his jacket and tossing it to the floor, and collapsed onto the baggy sofa. "How's the research coming, Sammy?"  
"Fine." said Sam, hastily opening his internet browser.  
"Awful," countered Castiel. Sam frowned at Cas, who stared back, nonplussed. "He hasn't found anything. I'm not certain how much information you could uncover on defeating the devil on your internet, but I am willing to guess it is minimal."  
"Always the voice of optimism, ain't ya', Cas?" called Dean, one hand covering his face. Castiel, as was frequent when it came to his dealings with humans, was confused.  
"Dean, I am not optimistic about anything. We have no chance of defeating Lucifer, and the odds of finding something on the internet to help us are equally slim. I was being realistic." Dean's hand slid from his face to expose his exasperation.  
"Sarcasm, Cas. I was being sarcastic." Castiel, as he had found to work best in these situations, simply nodded and stayed silent. Humans were difficult to live with. 


	2. Chapter 2

After two hours of sitting and thinking, Castiel found it so unbearably stifling that he didn't know what to do. The two humans in the room were panicking; he could feel it, however well they hid it with stupid jokes and menial chatter. He could feel the worry and tension rolling off them in suffocating waves, and it was making him nauseous. His wings were starting to itch. Castiel couldn't work out why he was thinking about phantom limb pain in humans at first, not until he tried to stretch his wings and remembered they weren't there anymore. That just added another layer of misery to his discomfort.  
Before today, Cas was sure he didn't even know the meaning of the word unbearable.  
Sam was preoccupied. Dean was napping. Castiel didn't want to disturb them. He got very quietly to his feet and left Bobby Singer's house, just as silently as he ever had.  
It was dark now. Dark and quiet. Castiel's breath smoked just a little in the night time air. He had to take a moment to remember where the owner of the house himself was...ah, helping some fellow hunters in Wisconsin, if he wasn't mistaken. Cas leaned briefly against the doorframe, suddenly awash with exhaustion. Was being human always this much hard work? He pushed himself away and stumbled from the house, heavy with sorrow and yet so light in the absence of his wings that he could barely keep his balance. He let his fingers run over the twisted metal wrecks of cars as he passed them, with a strange sense of solidarity. The pad of a fingertip came unexpectedly into contact with the razor edge of a piece of glass, and Castiel jumped at the small pain. He was bleeding, he observed numbly, and the tiny wound shed a surprisingly large amount of blood. Fat teardrops of the viscous red liquid tracked slowly down his hand, staining the cuff of his shirt when it reached his wrist. Castiel just stood and watched for minutes, every moment expecting it to heal or at least stop bleeding. Eventually he gave up and carried on, his injured finger throbbing slightly.  
He stopped under the gateway into Singer Salvage Yard, glancing up and down the deserted highway. There was a single light illuminating him, and he stared up into it, the brightness of it suddenly making him want to squint. He willed it to flicker. He willed it to spit sparks and hiss and shatter, just like the first time he met Dean, the first time he'd taken this vessel. He willed it to burn itself out in smoke and sparks, willed it to die.  
It shone. Humming smugly.  
Sudden, uncontrollable rage welled up in Castiel. All that he had ever done, how loyal he'd been, and this is what he got in return? Hurt and tiredness and sorrow and anger and he screamed. He screamed with fury that burned as bright as his grace once had, primal and desperate and painful. He screamed as though his wings might burst into flame and he'd trail and blazing streak across the sky like a comet until he burned up. He screamed for all the brothers and sisters he'd lost, for all those he'd killed, for the times he rebelled and the times he'd obeyed, and for what? To help a pair of broken humans fail to stop the apocalypse. That was his legacy, and for it he'd been ruined.  
He was on his knees. It was silent now. His cheeks were wet, his throat was torn and his breath rasped. Grit buried itself in his palms. Castiel leaned back slowly and sat on his heels, staring at the night sky.  
"I was one of those stars, once," he murmured. "Now what am I?" Dean stepped forward from the shadows he watched from and knelt next to Castiel, their shoulders brushing.  
"Now you're one of us fucked-up losers. Welcome to life; it's a bitch."  
Castiel didn't answer. 


	3. Chapter 3

The night was cold, Castiel guessed; his overcoat kept him warm, and he was still less susceptible to the whims of this world than any normal human. His and Dean's breath fogged in the air, and occasionally Dean would shiver lightly and pull his jacket tighter around himself.  
"Sammy's been on that damn laptop all day. It's a wonder his eyes ain't square." But he stayed. For hours.  
"Baby needed an oil change today, and I spilt some on my jeans, like a twat. See, there?" His bandy legs crossed, leaning back on his palms and gazing skyward, saying whatever crossed his mind without expecting a reply.  
"Was that a coyote there, across the road? They're actually pretty common 'round here, Bobby says." The deep, constant hum of his voice lulled Cas into relaxing. He let his shoulders droop and his head hang forward, and his exhaustion washed, tingling and warm, into his heavy limbs.  
"There's a hell of a lot of stars out tonight," he dimly heard Dean mutter, "Must be 'cause it's not very cloudy, eh?" he shifted his weight a little onto his left arm and lifted his right hand to trace a constellation with his forefinger. "That's the big dipper, there," he continued lamely, his hand dropping back his side, "And there's Polaris, y'know, the North star. I think that one's Virgo..."  
"Scorpio." corrected Castiel in a contented murmur. He felt Dean start a little, as if he'd forgotten Cas could talk.  
"What?" Cas raised his head and peered skyward, the familiar lights of home dancing before his eyes. He lifted his left hand lazily and pointed to the winking cluster in question.  
"That's Scorpio, Dean." he repeated, his voice rasping more than usual in his ruined throat, and let his hand fall back into his lap. A smile finally cracked through his stern facade as he studied the diamond-strewn sky, accompanied by a small sigh. He could feel Dean watching him with unusual intensity, and after a moment Cas lowered his eyes to return the gaze. At the sight of his sleepy smile, Dean broke out into a broad grin. He shuffled a little closer, letting their shoulders touch, and turned back to the night sky.  
"What're the other constellations that are out tonight, Cas?" he asked gently, rocking against him playfully. Cas let himself wobble with the movement, strangely entranced by Dean's sandy eyelashes for a moment, before he too looked back to the stars.  
"Hercules shines next to Vega, the bright star just above the Milky Way. And there's Cassiopeia..."  
"Where?"  
"Do you see Alkaid in the tail of ursa major?"  
"What in the what of what now?"  
"...The first star in the handle of the big dipper, Dean."  
"Oh, yeah."  
"Look upwards from that. Cassiopeia is shaped like your letter 'M'."  
"I see it...what's that really bright star? The one that's a bit blue?"  
"Jupiter."  
"But Jupiter's a planet..."  
"Yes, Dean. And tonight it's visible from earth."  
"Whoa. How far away is that, Cas?"  
"370 million miles, Dean." Castiel's voice had lowered to a groan. His eyelids were fluttering, and his chin drooped onto his chest. "Tiredness is awful, Dean," he slurred, "How do you stand it?"  
Dean's chuckle vibrated through his frame, hoarse and underused. "I don't, Cas. I sleep." Through the dense fog of his consciousness, Castiel could barely comprehend Dean's words.  
"But angels don't sleep..." he breathed, and his head slumped onto his companion's shoulder.  
For the first time, Castiel dreamed. 


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Just wanted to say thank you to the people who've actually bothered to read this steadily-degrading and inauspiciously-titled Destiel fan fiction. Your attention and kind comments have been gratefully recieved, and the continuing chapters are my reply. It's a pretty poor one, but I'm trying my best.

Well, I could probably try a little harder. But fuck it.

Castiel dreamed of flying. Not of the instantaneous appearance and disappearance angels practised whilst on earth, but of true flying. The flight of birds and bats, of butterflies and bees. He dreamed of his wings, gossamer and insubstantial as a wavelength of intent, but thick and feathered and anchored with muscle at the same time, cleaving the air in two. He felt them bend and curve inward, felt the air compress beneath them and drive him higher as he aimed stratospheric, suddenly burdened and blessed with the power of true flight. A strange feeling of vertigo swooped in the pit of Castiel's stomach and he laughed then, stretching his hands before him to snatch at the clouds as he corkscrewed through them, then bringing his arms in and crossing them, cocooning himself in his wings and tumbling through the sky like a spent leaf, still giggling in paroxysms of delight. He waited until he breached the lowest cloud layer before snapping his wings to their full extent, feeling the strain where his wings joined his back, revelling in the burn as he slowed his descent. Gliding now, sitting low on thermals, he had time to see how his dreamscape looked. Below the clouds there was nothing but horizon, just the turquoise sea meeting the azure sky in a land of boundless freedom and untamed joy, for a retired soldier to wander freely forever.  
Of course, thought Castiel idly, this was a false paradise; the air above water was cold. There would be no thermals for him to rise lazily upon as he did.  
Even as the thought passed through his mind the warmth buoying Castiel up disappeared and a crushing pillar of cold slammed into his back, driving him down. Startled, Castiel tried desperately to pull upwards, angling his body vertically as his flight joints rotated in their sockets and his wings scythed down, battling fruitlessly against the force as it sent him plummeting inexorably toward the waves. A stinging tickle of spray on his face was all the warning he got before he plunged through the surface. And then it was Dark.  
And heavy.  
Cold and crushing.  
Pressure and silence were everything.  
And Castiel was falling.  
In the darkness.  
And silence.  
Alone.

Dean...!

"...Cas?"  
He was clawing desperately toward the surface, toward the diffuse, pale blue light, but the wings that had lifted him skywards were suddenly entirely solid, and, worse yet, sodden and cumbersome in the water, weighing him further down into the midnight depths.  
"Cas? Cas, wake up."  
The suit and trench coat were only making matters worse, but how could he take them off? There was water...there was water in his lungs now, and he choked and spluttered in a stream of bubbles and tried to take a breath but he couldn't, he couldn't breathe, and the pressure increased and he was being crushed and there was nothing, nothing he could do to stop it and it wasn't a dream anymore.  
"Are you okay? Cas!"  
It was a nightmare.

"CAS!"  
A stinging slap across the face finally jolted Castiel back to conciousness. He gave an enormous gasp which immeadiately subsided into a spluttering coughing fit. Dean pulled him into a sitting position, his face etched with concern. "You were twitching and muttering to yourself the whole time. And then you started to choke..." The worry in his voice was lost on Cas as he took deep, heaving breaths, his fingers scrabbling for the sleeve of Dean's jacket. His fingertips twisted into a crease and he gripped, hard, anchoring himself. His eyes were streaming from his choking fit, and the tears were cold on his cheeks.  
"Dean," he croaked desperately, his eyes unfocused and his voice tinged with horror, "I...I think I've killed Jimmy." 


End file.
